Writer, Daydreamer and Procrastinator

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Having first procrastinated about whether to write a new entry given how long it’s been since my last one, I decided to go for it.

I now find myself procrastinating about what to write.

I suppose I should start by explaining where I’ve been. But then, I’ve not really been anywhere special. Well, dealing with the usual life drama and on holiday sure but nowhere that’s truly incapacitated my ability to write.

I think my subconscious had something to do with it. Keeping me away I mean.

Yet again, I fail to commit to a routine or a project that will enable me to write. It’s like real life is like this big prison that I can’t break free from. My creativity is on the outside but I’m stuck well and truly on the inside.

Sometimes, life gets so busy then when you do finally stop it is overwhelming. Things catch up with you that you thought you had outrun. And you can only take a deep breath and wish for swift passage. And to start moving again.

As I’ve embarked upon my last minute holiday shopping dash, I have become once again baffled when it comes to sandals.

And I say this because as with every year they are made out of the toughest leather, with a ridiculous amount of straps and even worse, with a strip of leather you slide between your toes.

I mean – what is that about?

Flip flops don’t just have to come in a ‘poke this between your toes’ style. What happened to the basic across the foot in nice material option?

And don’t get me started on jelly shoes. Kids, sure.. adults, what?

I realise this rant makes me sound incredibly old but surely, somewhere, someone must want to choose comfort over style? They’re sandals! They’ll get covered in sea, sand, baked in the sun, ice cream..

Ever since my fridge freezer decided to curl up and die on a Sunday evening and all its contents disposed of, I have just completed the mission of restocking the replacement.

And I have to tell you, stocking a fridge freezer (a new one at that) from scratch, has given me the immense satisfaction that I usually only get from writing in a new pad, reading a newspaper first, starting a new diary, wearing a new dress, having clean bedding etc. etc.

I love clean, shiny, new… and now I’m sipping on my freshly chilled prosecco and am enjoying the fact that for tonight at least, all is well with my world.

There is an instant gratification issue and my frustration at the lack of it is starting to hurt my head.

Today, a concern has been raised at work for which I can only currently determine possible scenarios rather than definitive absolutes and there is no way of predicting if or in fact when I will receive full information.

And because said concern will most certainly affect me in one way or another, the ‘not knowing’ has resulted in countless minutes wasted thinking of the ‘what if this happens’ or ‘what if that happens’.

Given my dilemma of yesterday and my conscious downloading of this issue to my blog, today, my self-awareness has sky-rocketed off the charts leaving me with the following observations about myself:

I must know everything.
And I must know as soon as it is possible to know.
I don’t like not knowing about things that may affect me.
I don’t like not having an opportunity to get my point across.
I don’t appreciate the need for silences now and then.
I don’t like not being able to soundly predict future events.
And if I suspect that I am failing at the above, my brain works through every possible scenario and counteraction.
I am simply a control freak.
I don’t like surprises.

Having one of those adult-child experiences; you know – where you are an adult and you are free to make your own decisions but the silent yet simultaneously deafening judgement of your parents rings in your ears thus instantaneously reducing you to a child?

Yeah, one of those.

The decision isn’t life changing. Or world ending. Or in truth, much to do with my parents at all. And they haven’t tried to make me feel guilty, or offer up their opinion or even discuss the matter… It’s the silence. It’s the agreeable yet vague responses and the glossing over of any element of discussion relating to the matter which irks me the most.

It’s like when I was younger. When I misbehaved, I wanted the instant gratification of the telling off. I didn’t like the long silences or the disappointed and disapproving looks. That was torture for me.

Now, the silence mocks me. Like – what do they really think? Are they right? Does it matter? Have I made the wrong call? Who cares?

Why on earth do I feel the need to justify myself or even attempt to over something wholly insignificant in the grander scheme of all our lives?

I don’t feel like either of my parents perpetuates this behaviour and in the past, we have even discussed openly our different approaches to certain issues and decision making.

I know that this issue is my issue.

It’s just when I’m in the middle of it, I struggle to get control of it.